The Present is Nice
by dgryphon
Summary: One-Shot. Wilson reflects on his first intimate encounter with House, then his first really intimate encounter. Rated M for language and sexual references. MM slash- HouseWilson. Disclaimer: I get no money from this. Reviews appreciated!


It started with an awkward kiss after yet another mindless oncology benefit. I wandered into the bathroom, relieved myself and then started washing my hands like every good doctor does. Then he entered the room, tapping his cane jauntily against the door frame as he leans back; either the alcohol or the Vicodin had given him a nice buzz tonight. Wait, does he mix those two? I don't remember.

The conversation seemed innocent enough, what with the mildly- or wildly- inappropriate comments about Lisa's blouse line. I stood, my arms crossed, as he pissed and continued his repartee on the high points of our boss's anatomy. Nodding thoughtfully, really just ignoring him, I stared off into space as he came over to the sink to wash up. Then the voice stopped. No more idle chatter. It broke me from my reverie; I turned to face him, my thoughts focused on what had caused him to shut up.

The kiss happened quickly, almost instantly. One moment, nothing; the next, I feel his wet hand on my back, pulling me closer as his lips lock with mine. The stubble that constantly covers his face gently grazed my chin as we began to kiss. Actually kiss. My mouth opened a bit, letting his tongue ease in. My shirt felt wet as his soapy hand moved over my back. In response, I slowly moved my hand onto his head and felt his short soft hair beneath my fingers. Instinctively and without conscious effort, I applied pressure to make him kiss me that much harder.

Instead of breaking apart, as I thought would be the immediate reaction for at least one of us, the kiss continued to steadily increase in intensity. The timid pressure of our lips together with hands barely active progressed into something quite the opposite. His hands eventually snaked their way down from my back to my ass; he groped me, his touch sensual rather than invasive. I could now smell his breath, taste his essence. No alcohol surprisingly; this was all him.

After several minutes of simultaneous hand and tongue exploration, he broke away. I looked into his eyes, expecting to see horror, confusion, possibly contempt. But all I saw was… something along the lines of desire. Whether romantic or just lustful, I couldn't say.

"Wilson," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Though our mouths no longer shared the same air, his face was only a few inches from mine. "Okay?" Not much of a question, considering the circumstances.

"Was that just an impulse thing or… was it?" My mind really couldn't wrap itself around the other possibilities. I had never pined for House, never consciously desired him. But with that kiss, the workings of my subconscious mind became painfully apparent to me. I wanted House. He represented the opposite of everything that I always had in a relationship and everything that always fucked that relationship up for me. He was a constant presence in my life, but did I want his presence to be _more_?

"No, not an impulse thing." Right, my question. Kissing House apparently removed the ability to achieve a coherent narrative. "You know, I've wanted to do that for a while."

I stared dumbly back at him. "Kiss… kiss me? Do _that_ thing?" Dumbass.

House's eyes showed his desire to mock me, to tease me about my trepidation and my disbelief at his attraction to me. But his smile showed a genuine concern for how I felt, though being House, his concern was really more for whether or not he got anything else out of this.

"Well, assuming that I'm not just kidding and this is a great big game… seriously. I need something to go on here. Are you okay with this?"

Right then, I couldn't answer him. It took three days and several trips around his apartment block to work up enough courage to knock on his door.

"That was amazing."

House exhaled loudly, his eyes temporarily closing out of sheer exhaustion. We lay naked in his bed, a lone thin sheet covering only the parts of our bodies below our knees. Sweat shimmered from the bathroom light exuding through the doorway as we remained motionless save for the sharp heaving of our chests.

"I think that was better than _any_ of the sex I've seen in my porn collection," House finally said. I took the compliment as it was and smiled at how he had judged our encounter. First encounter. We had finally moved from friends to kissing in a bathroom to lovers in the space of a few days. And really, the sex had been much better than porn. Especially given that one of the performing characters had a bum thigh; that little obstacle had been something to overcome for me, but House knew exactly how to avoid the pain.

We lay silent for a few more moments, basking in the post-sex glow. I had never felt such happiness after sleeping with anyone. House had managed to find every pleasure spot in my body, had said everything I wanted to hear, had made me come harder and more intensely than I ever had before. At that moment, I thought that House, even as a cripple, could fuck like a god. Forgive the cliché; I was rather incapable of wittiness or fine figurative language. Much, much too tired.

"I'm assuming that you're okay with this?" I finally asked, moving my hand down his arm. He watched me for a moment, a smile on his face. "You seemed okay before… and definitely during… and now."

"Sure there's the 'I-just-fucked-Jimmy' disbelief going through my head, but unlike you, I have the advantage of having popped my gay cherry quite a while ago." He grinned even more widely. "Med school. Giant jock of a guy- became a neurosurgeon in New York, by the way- bent me over a few times in exchange for test answers. I got through the class with all A's; he got to fuck a guy without coming out of the closet."

"I should have known. I always found it odd that you never mentioned whoring yourself out. Now I can feel at peace knowing that you did." I really _wasn't_ amazed. Even if House was lying, the lie was utterly believable. It lay in the foggy grey realm of what-will-House-do-to-win.

The only question that I usually had to pose was "What's the prize?" In medicine, the prize was simple: get an answer and coincidentally, you save a person. Sometimes anyways. Figure out the puzzle, plain and simple. In life, things weren't so black and white.

The touch of his fingers to my cheek brought my attention back to his presence. "I don't want to get all touchy-feely, but…" My words trailed off.

"What does doing the horizontal tango entail?"

"Exactly. I mean, it was good, right?" Wow, that question made me seem needy. "Good for me at least. And you mentioned something about better than porn. So I'm thinking… we need to do it again. Soon."

"How about in ten minutes? We'll get rested up and then you can straddle me, ride me, and scream my name out loud enough to wake my neighbors. Unless you want to do it a different way than last time? Because I don't think Mr. and Mrs. Benson would appreciate hearing 'House' yelled at the top of your lungs again."

"They did hit the wall several times, didn't they?"

"Not to mention those rather rude insults. I couldn't quite hear what it was that they wanted up your ass, but I don't think it would have been quite as nice as the thing already up there."

Despite the dirty humor- which I always enjoyed, even if secretly- he had a point. Brooms or vacuum cleaners or whatever the Bensons had wanted me to stick up there couldn't compare with House's… well, you're not children. You know.

He finally leaned over and planted small kisses on my shoulder. I don't really know why; he's not the overly romantic type. Still, I enjoyed the subtle attention, especially once he reached my neck, then my earlobes… then he kissed me, firmly, his hands sliding back down my body.

In that moment, I couldn't believe how lucky I was. Not that I somehow _knew_ that House was my soul mate or some bullshit. I may have issues but stupidity isn't generally one of them. And my naïveté doesn't usually fuck with my sense of reality. No, I was lucky to be able to have my cake and, right then, fuck it too. Maybe it would happen again, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe we would grow old together, happy or whatever passed for happy for House. Probably not. None of that mattered. The future was irrelevant. I willed myself to stay in the present, where I had this amazing guy making out with me… and he'd probably go down on me in a minute or two. Yes; the present was nice.


End file.
